#(<- completely normal way of thinking)

[the-wizard-synonyms]

eastern european haunted emily axford pc, transfem daughter of libertarians ally beardsley pc, spot on pub representation grizzled old british lady siobhan thompson pc, nasty old gun guy zac oyama pc, posh boy brian murphy pc, famous explorer with a book series that really falls off lou wilson pc we're fucking eating this season my god

[inkskinned]

despite pages of poems and the entire book i wrote you - you only ever wrote me two songs. the first has the lyric coming up on 7.13, the date we first started really flirting. it's been three years from then, and my life has been utterly ruined. we haven't spoken in a month. i oscillate between being a wreck and being wildly, manically happy. i go long periods without thinking of you - and then i keep myself up, tortured by memories.

i think it's important to note we had been friends for years first. that i had learned to trust you, to think better of you. that you knew who i was - and you still fucking broke me. you knew all the ways i had worked to be okay with myself. all my independence, my hobbies. you could have left me alone, is the thing. you could have let me just keep fucking living.

i keep writing paragraphs on paragraphs about what you did, what you said - who you were. how it escalated so slowly. how i am still scared to admit the truth of things, fearing your response. you taught me that fear. it's only been a month, but still - already, how strange to think of who i was while i was with you. that was a husk-girl, cowering, servile. i can't believe let you in my fucking house.

three weeks before you discarded me; you took me ring shopping. you would tell me so many times i was the love of your life, someone that you "couldn't live without."

the last thing you sent me was that second song - a new one, finally. it's about how i'll never get what i want. about how miserable the idea of a life with me is.

my mother was furious. i had to call her - i was sobbing on the floor of my bathroom about it. She knows it kills me that i can't have kids, i said, breathless, silver and shaking with anguish, Why would she make a fucking song about how sad that is.

you know her, and you know how gentle and forgiving she is. how rare her anger is. her response was slow, deliberate. sweetheart, she said, she can write any song she wants. i know my girl. you are going to write a book instead.

i hiccupped a laugh, but she was still talking. she dropped her voice low, almost scraping through the phone and onto the floor with me. it was a strange tone, almost like feeling a storm coming when there's nowhere safe to be.

i want you to rip her apart, she said. do you think you can you do that for me?

[remcadll]

Gen obsessed with how.. *dead* your Jason's color pallete is. Like, that's corpse pale right there. Not a spec of blood left flowing in there (also father Todd's skin being full of color in comparison is a nice touch)

THANK YOU I love making him look a bit ghoulish. Guy who's not supposed to be alive but yes he is. no he isn't <3

[xenonsdoodles]

in the immediate aftermath of emergency surgery

[todzol]

[image id: digital drawing of two cat furries sitting facing each other in a grass patch on a cloudy day. the one on the left is small, chubby brown colorpoint with fluffy cheeks, a big fluffy tail and blue eyes. She's wearing a teal shirt with a diamond-shaped chest cutout where her chest fluff is poking out, and black pants. She's sat on a rock and has a neutral expression. the one on the right is tall with grey fur and a white muzzle, underbelly and fluff. She has long dark grey hair, a bob tail and heterochromia with one brown and one blue eye. She is wearing a roughly cropped black shirt and black skirt with a choker, spiked wristband and a chain. She is smiling slightly with her tongue poking out. end image id]

Trans cat girlies !!! out on da grass !!

My Tetra next to @wolfertinger666 's Hitomi :3

[jenijro]

I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that Holmes’s reaction to finding the remains of what was possibly (and ended up being) a deadly drug that has killed a woman, drove two guys insane, and killed another guy was

“let’s light this fucker up”

[krazieka2]

Fe3h did not have a beauty pageant sequence, but if it did I'm 99% sure this is how it would go

[ruporas]

being a little petty (ID in alt)

[sparrowlucero]

do you actually dislike the bird abode or just the creature designs? not saying the name directly so your ass doesn't get blasted by the tag

I like a lot of the creatures in it; the showrunner is a really fantastic horror artist and it really comes through in the aesthetics of the show. I especially like this hand dragon, though there's a lot of other great designs:

As for the show on the whole, it's not bad but not really for me? Early on it really feels like it's schtick will be that it's a subversion of harry potter-esque stories, where the protagonist wants to go on an adventure similar to her favorite fantasy book but instead ends up hanging out with the "villain" (who's actually just othered)/the magic school turns out to be secretly oppressive/the world is kind of gross and spooky instead of clean and approachable... but as it goes along I think it ends up being a pretty by the books YA fantasy thing played mostly straight, and it isn't super interesting or funny or scary or anything besides that. Which admittedly was probably to its benefit, I think a lot of its popularity comes from it being this very tropeish and not-uncomfortable magic school/found family story that's actually queer, like I genuinely think this is hugely appealing to the average cartoon fan on twitter, but I'm just not personally into it in comparison to a lot of it's contemporaries

[toffee4you]

Silver x Self-conscious Reader

Content: suggestive (mostly at the end), comfort, established relationship, mentions of sweat, mentions of blindfolding, pet name "My love", lots of kissing (+ brief love bites and kitten licks), the reader's chest is mentioned—pronouns are not. Take the gender as you will. Longer than my usual works (cramming in all of the features), NOT PROOF-READ (too long).

Mentioned Features: tan skin, chubby stomach and thighs, chubby cheeks, big forehead, taller than Silver, hip dips, shoulder freckles, flat chest, glasses (for close and far), dull-colored eyes and hair (interpretable), thin/short eyelashes, palmar hyperhidrosis (correct me if I write this wrong, I tried researching).

Features are mostly referenced towards the end. You can skip to reading the third attempt if it is too long. No singular feature was mentioned for too long since there was a lot to write on.

Body type was decided by asks.

The reader does mention their body features in a negative light, because that is the point of the fic. I do not endorse speaking that way. Silver's words do not mention them in a bad light, but most responses are suggestive because it is the theme... I believe he is most effective at acceptance through actions.

∆ If you sent an ask for this fanfic, but did not receive a response or your request did not appear here, considering checking the end notes.

For a while, you have been in a steady relationship with Silver. He is sweet, kind, attentive... But most importantly, he gives you space when you need it. He understands when you need time to recharge your social battery, or when you need a moment of silence after a stressful event. His respect for your boundaries becomes especially clear when it comes to intimacy. If the problem lies within him, he always takes responsibility.

The first time, it happened when the two of you were cuddling. Silver was nuzzled into you, pecking at the back of your neck and your collar. You reciprocated by running your fingers through his hair, indicative of your approval. After knowing you for so long, and with a mood that was just right, he figured this could be his chance to take the relationship to the next step. Maybe you had been thinking the same, but no one was brave enough to say it until now.

"My love, do you want to..?"

He looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, placid from the comfort you provided. Yet, he swore to himself he would stay awake if you really wanted this.

"To..?"

"...Go further with our relationship. Only if that is what you want. I could wait forever."

"Oh, you mean that? I..."

His brows furrowed upon registering the complicated expression on your face, lids opening wider to get a clearer look. Unlike before, your eyes were avoidant—guilty, even. He swore he could hear a sharp exhale leaving your mouth, one that signified repressed stress. Silver immediately sat up, rubbing your shoulders. It was his first priority to ensure your comfort, so he did not pry. He simply assumed you were not at that level of comfort with him right now.

"I apologize for asking, we don't have to do anything. I'm grateful enough that you trust me with your 'cuddle times'. Even so, I would love you regardless of what physical contact I receive."

Always quick to give a formal and sincere apology. Once your expression soften, he slowly nudged his head into your hand again, asking for permission to forget his words and return to the usual. For the rest of that night, your cuddling continued as if nothing happened. However, he did ask Lilia for some insight the next day, if only to avoid upsetting you again.

The second attempt came months later, when he felt you had become closer. It was night in his dorm room, just the two of you today. He invited you to spar in Diasomnia's training ground earlier, completely dominating the scores. Sometimes, he would let you win, but you were feeling humorous enough and asked him to "not hold back" this session. It went just as expected.

Now, the two of you were play-fighting with pillows, your boisterous laughter mixing with his quiet chuckles as blows were exchanged. He would let you win this time, as it was only fair. You stopped him from dodging by landing on top of him, waist clamped on either side by your legs. Then, whapped him straight in the face with his own pillow.

After landing that cathartic hit, you finally settled down, panting heavily from expending all of your energy today. Though Silver was trying his best to ignore it, you were practically straddling him and beading with sweat, the exhausted smile still on your face. Would there ever be a better time to try than now? As far as he knew, Lilia told him to "shoot his shot" when you're in high spirits, rather than a calm moment like the previous attempt... He gulped before finally deciding to ask again,

"...Would you be willing to give me a chance tonight? If you are tired, I can take the lead, or we could always wait until—-"

He abruptly swallowed his words when he saw that look on your face again. No time was wasted before he brought his hands to your face, massaging your cheeks while staring at you with an apologetic look in his eyes. This time, you had at least given him the faintest clue of reason;

"Sorry, I don't think I'm ready right now. I need to... work on my appearance, just a bit. Once I look better, I would be up for it."

A lie. You always repeated this to yourself, and now to him. It was always "next time", waiting for something to happen that would make you love your appearance more, like a potion or spell would change your every insecurity. Yet, it didn't matter how many times Silver gave honest compliments completely unprompted, or how he only ever looked at you with adoration. You couldn't shake the thought that he would somehow be disgusted with you if you ever went further—that he would come to a sudden realization of how he couldn't stand to even look at you. Even now, Silver was giving no such look, pulling you down to lay beside him as his arms circled around you. He didn't know what was processing through your head, but he also did not want you to apologize for his own misstep; he would provide comfort tonight as well, and respect your boundaries... Yet, something about your reasoning concerned him. Something that triggered a distinct feeling that he should not ignore this issue and allow it to fester.

The third time, which Lilia proudly told him would be "the charm", was spaced out longer than the last. That was because Silver had been paying special attention to your behavior.

Your clothes always covered most of your body, your hair styled to cover facial features, and you wore shoes that would avoid adding height.

He had always assumed it was your sense of fashion, and didn't bother to question it.

Whenever you visited the washrooms, you spent longer than usual in the mirrors, rubbing at your features with a frown on your face.

He never stared in the washroom, even if you were only washing your hands or applying makeup. He knew it was basic decency to give others a sense of privacy. Thus, he never noticed.

Now that he was paying attention, it came clear to him what the issue was: it is not that you lacked comfort with him, it was a lack of comfort with yourself. Despite the love that you show him, and the care that you show to others around you, there was a distinct lack of such a thought for your body. The guilt had begun to eat away at him in an instant, his mind filled with questions. How could he not have noticed? When he confessed, he swore to always protect your happiness, yet he allowed this issue to cultivate unknowingly.

Silver asked you to visit his dorm that night, surprisingly, using his phone to text for once. He gave you time to settle in, brewing tea for the two of you to drink together. Once you winded down, he sat on the edge of the bed with you. It was the usual routine for calm nights. You would typically cuddle afterwards, then fall asleep together.

That was not what he planned for tonight. The only thing occupying his mind was striking down your worries, with the speed and precision expected of any trained knight.

Slowly, he angled his body to face you, holding your gloved hands in his.

"I won't ask of anything intimate from you tonight, but I want to help you. You... Do not seem too fond of your appearance. What is it? Tell me, is there something I can do? You know I would never judge you. You're beautiful to me."

Your expression was troubled, but not as uncomfortable as before. You stared into your lap, fingers twitching between the decision to pull back or savor the contact. There was a certain burning sensation in your throat, as if the simple act of speaking would cause you to choke. But you decided to be brave today and test the waters.

"...Don't you think it's weird how I'm taller than you? Than most of the guys here?"

Your words left him confused. He leaned his head against you, slow enough to where you could back away had you wished. He answered with his sincere opinion. The one he always carried since he first fell in love.

"I see no issue with your height. It won't hinder my vow to protect you, and it only means there is more of you to cherish. Besides... I am quite fond of being embraced by your long arms, and tangled among your long legs."

"-—Then, my skin? You wouldn't prefer it any lighter?"

"Your skin tone is gorgeous. Do you truly believe I have never thought about dragging my fingers across it? In fact, I would not mind at all if you decided to tan further... Perhaps we are long overdue for a beach trip."

His face nuzzled into your side, a small smile gracing his lips as you locked eyes.

"I'll... Try to take your word for it. But compared to you, you're still leagues above me. I don't understand why you chose me, rather than someone else, sometimes. Just look—you have unique eyes, and shining, silver hair. My features are just boring compared to you."

His smile faltered. Boring? How could you say that about yourself?

"You are not boring. The color of my hair or eyes has nothing to do with your natural beauty. I could stare into your eyes forever, run my fingers through your hair until they go numb... If your colors were 'boring', then we should consider the woodland animals boring as well—and we both know that would be a lie. To me, your eyes are as lovely as a doe's, and your hair is like the feathers of a finch."

Silver knew you doted on the woodland animals just as much as he did. It was his compensation for his difficulties with expressing through words. The complete lack of judgement in his voice and eyes did provide a sense of relief. Maybe, you would be willing to talk everything through with him, allow him to unwrap one insecurity at a time.

You dragged the collar of your shirt to expose the shoulders, showing him the freckled skin. Biting down on your lip in a nervous instinct, you waited to see if he would be fine with this, as well.

"I never noticed... Would you be willing to show me this part of yourself more often? They are like stars against your skin—- No, far more precious. I would cherish a part of you before anything else in this universe."

...Maybe the only exception would be his family, to which you were considered equally important, but still; his point stood. He already saw you as an inseparable part of his life, so there was no reason for him to hate any part of your appearance. He hoisted himself up, causing you to lean back ever so slightly. You could feel his lips brushing against your shoulder in small pecks, an almost ticklish sensation. He finally managed to earn a quiet chuckle from you, your smile following suit.

"Okay, okay, I understand!... Then, you don't mind my facial features either?"

"...Which ones?"

It was likely a "no" if he had to ask, but you decided to get it off your chest anyways. If you didn't, you knew a small part of your mind would continue to believe that Silver would find it unsightly.

"My cheeks are chubby. And, unlike a doe, I don't have long eyelashes."

His hands swiftly moved up to cup your cheeks, as if it was some sort of emergency. Then, slowing down, he massaged them with his thumbs. A therapeutic sensation.

"That only means they are warmer, and softer. I think it is quite adorable how you remind me of a hamster when you eat."

That would certainly explain the soft pinches or rubs he gives to your cheeks whenever you eat... Or, whenever you puff them in general. Your pouts have never failed to raise a chuckle from him, so long as you were never truly upset.

"As for your eyelashes, they allow a far better view of your eyes. Tell me, how much of my eyes can you see?"

You squinted. His lidded expression did not help with the visibility, as charming as it was.

"I—- Alright. MAYBE you have a point. I only see half of them. But they're still pretty."

Silver's lips tenderly pressed against the lid of your eye an action of both gratitude and appreciation, then moved up to your forehead. He certainly took his time there, refusing to take a single break before he had left a brief kiss on every inch of it.

"...And your forehead, it is more surface for my lips to treasure with kisses."

He left a final peck on your nose before pulling back with a proud grin. To see you make a step towards self-acceptance was enough of an achievement in his eyes.

"Is there anything else I may prove to you, my love?"

His tone dropped to a whisper near your ear, your encouraging caress against his cheek sparking an increasingly intimate mood.

"I recall Sebek saying you like girls with big chests. Huge."

You freed your hands from his face, making an exaggerated motion over your chest to which he shook his head. You believe there might have been a hint of annoyance in the way his left brow twitched, but not at you.

"I will have... a talk with Sebek later. I assure you, your chest is quite flattering as it is. Will you allow me to demonstrate?"

He was finally making his move, his fingers pre-placed on the topmost button of your shirt. Once you gave him a nod, he gently worked his way down, leaving the bottom buttons intact. His hands slid up your back before you felt the warm press of his lips against the top of your chest. They were short, loving kisses, trailing down the valley and pressing into the inner sides. He only ever paused to see your reaction, earning another pet on the head.

Realization hit him like a block of galvanized square steel. You were affirming the idea of intimacy. He nuzzled into your wrist, teeth brushing against the rim of your gloves. Your hand moved back instinctively, feeling the need to "warn" him first.

"Silver, I think you would want me to leave my gloves on. They will feel very unpleasant for you, and you'll get all dirty."

"Why is that? Any touch from your hands would be pleasant to me. Even in my dreams, I would never consider it 'dirty'."

"...They're extremely sweaty. Like, drenched in sweat, no matter what I do."

"I assure you, we will both be drenched with sweat after we're finished."

At that, he clamped the glove between his teeth, tugging it off. His cheek leaned back into your hand again. His expression did not give way to a single sign of discomfort at the wetness against his skin.

"...And my glasses. I have to keep my glasses on. Or else I won't be able to see you. Your expression would look like a paint smudge, and everything else would be a blur."

"They frame your eyes like a portrait. There is no issue with leaving them on... Though, if your glasses cause discomfort to wear, may I suggest an alternative solution?"

"I highly doubt you can cast a spell for improved vision, but go on."

"Not at all, but if you would prefer it... I believe a blindfold would look lovely on you. There would be no need to worry about seeing; you only need to focus on my voice and touch."

Hearing "creatively" intimate suggestions from Silver was a slight shock, causing a very subtle blush to dust your cheeks. While he often missed innuendos and dirty jokes, he was also not completely oblivious to the topic.

"I might leave them on for now, while we're still warming up. I might just take you up on that suggestion later, though."

His face visibly lit up at your decision—the best of both worlds. He could see your appearance with glasses for just a bit longer, but you also did not shy away from the offer. After leaving a quick "thank you" kiss on your cheek, he slid off the bed, taking a knee in front of you.

"My love, I would like to unbutton the rest of your shirt... Will you allow me? Your arms have been wrapped around your stomach for quite some time."

You made the mistake of locking contact with his pleading eyes. It was as if he had spent countless nights waiting for this moment, which, he really had. With a defeated sigh, you moved your arms away with a hint of reluctance.

"If you don't like what you see, you can always put the buttons back on. I won't judge."

He was halfway through the last few buttons by the time you finished your sentence, his face buried in your stomach. There was no way he was putting any of the buttons back on as long as you remained comfortable. His mouth left kisses and painless love bites, relentless in their motion as he finished undoing the last of the buttons. But he didn't pull back, not yet. His hands held your sides for support as he pressed deeper into you, kisses turning into kitten licks. Only for a little while.

Silver's head began to bob again, and though you couldn't see his face, you could feel his movements slowing down. You had to pull him back to keep him awake, patting his cheek.

"Silver, you can't fall asleep now."

You reminded him with a lighthearted tone, watching his eyes fight to open again. Even if he did fall asleep, you would just wait for him to wake up again. Silver, on the other hand, was not too fond at the thought of waiting longer. He leaned against your legs, fingers slipping through the waistband. There was no movement to pull it off yet, but only his eyes staring into yours for any signs of insecurities.

"I won't fall asleep, not now... Not when there is still more for me to admire."

"...Please don't force yourself. My hips aren't 'normal', and my thighs don't look as slender as they should be..."

A pause, stealing a quick glance for his reaction. His brows furrowed in return, fingers feeling the hips under your clothes. He began to rub his fingers in circular motions, massaging the flat surface.

"You're right, they feel better than normal, quite pleasant to hold. And your thighs..."

His hands slid the waistband down, carefully observing your movements for any signs of discomfort. The fabric dropped to the ground, allowing a clear view of your legs. Silver had to take a sharp inhale, his fingers twitching. It took every fiber of his being to not just unceremoniously dive his face down. Instead, he rested his chin on your legs, a pleading look on his face.

"It's soft, and warm... If they 'should' be any other way, I suppose our world is backwards. Will you allow me further in? I promise I will do everything in my power to stay awake. And, if I fall asleep... Wake me however you wish."

You took initiative at his words, cupping his head to press against your legs. A soft breath left his mouth, as if all of worries left his body just now. Not from training today, or from his studies, but the relief of knowing you had given him the opportunity to soothe all of your insecurities. In the chance that he found any more that night? Rest assured, it would be the last thing on your mind.

∆ End Notes

Tumblr does not allow me to use private responses for anonymous asks. I set guidelines for the sake of user privacy, which stated that I will not post your ask publicly if I am not explicitly given permission. However, I still read through all of the requests and included them. If I portrayed your ask incorrectly, do not be afraid to send out another ask; just ensure you provide an explanation so I understand.

If you sent an ask and it did not appear in this fanfic, Tumblr might have eaten it. You can re-send an ask or DM your request to have it added. If the requested body feature clashes with any of the listed features, I can make another post with a different combination.

I will reblog this post with responses to some of the most common statements I received in asks. Not the body features, just extra questions or concerns some asks mentioned that I could not respond to.

[gameringgungke]

I WILL NOT TAKE THIS SLANDER ANYMORE

kris only does extra damage to tenna if you've completed the mantle minigames. otherwise,

just like with the knight, kris's damage is halved against tenna. they may not be happy with him, but they don't hate him

[momentomori24]

I may just be insane about this but does this feel like foreshadowing to anyone else. In this scene we see her trying to replicate the skill of someone else (her mother) and failing to achieve the same results that they would. That feels really specific and it's driving me insane.

Like, we see this come back again in the aftermath of the trial. Diana has repeatedly voiced her admiration for Wolfgang's ability to speak and inspire those around him in the darkest of times, saying she wished she could do the same. We see her pour her heart out and give her own speech to inspire the others-- except the reaction that she receives is cold and miserable, far from the newly kindled warmth and hope Wolfgang was able to create every time.

Diana is a chameleon. Her whole thing is to reflect, to replicate and to adapt. Do you think that this small scene where she tries to make a butterfly out of her hairclips-- a butterfly, an animal associated with transformation and change-- and the end result looking nothing like what she wanted it to be is a metaphor for her future character arc? She has declared that she wants to follow in Wolfgang's footsteps, wants to become something new, but do you think that by the end she ends up being the furthest thing from him? Do you think that by the end she will be left distorted, fundamentally wrong? Do you think that if she could see what she will become in the future, the only emotion that she can muster is horror as she gazes at a stranger that's supposed to be herself? That by the end, she won't be able to recognise herself, because there's no "her" left anymore?

[daily-odile]

FINALLY FINALLY HAPPY (VERY LATE) BIRTHDAY ODILE!!!!!

[bongosinferno]

A devastating and confusing thing about the Fallout setting, when you explore the pre-war aspects, is what the creators think about pre-war America. In the first games we only get hints of the pre-war world, but they seem to be some sort of wild fascist nation invading Canada. In Fallout 1, the first thing we're introduced to of the pre-war society is seeing a soldier shoot civilians and laughing.

Now, for the first 2 games and New Vegas we don't really know much. What we know is that there's a fascist military group known as the enclave who were a sort of US deep state even before the war, and that the government teamed up with corporate interests to preform vaguely MKULTRA-ish experiments with the Vaults. Basically, the government was an extreme version of the 50s American jingoism and McCarthyism.

This is well and dandy, I guess issues come up more when we get to the later games, especially 4, where it seems like none of this extreme plotting and societal civil unrest which would exist is seen. The society as presented in 4 also seems quite progressive, gay people are featured in the opening, and none of the baggage of say, civil rights not existing are included. Now on a baseline, I don't want settings to be more conservative, homophobic and sexist etc., but it becomes a very confusing setting when it's displayed both as this jingoist extreme thing with fascist tendencies aswell as a progressive place where everyone is seemingly equal. If you're focusing on the 50s as your setting, and American nationalism in the 50s, then you can't have McCarthyism spoofs and anti-communism as a societal paranoia norm while also general equality is the norm without misunderstanding why McCarthyism and nationalist jingoism is bad. A massive harm done in anti-communist paranoia is how it degrades and vilifies any progressive movements (women's rights, civil rights, homosexuality) as being morally un-American and therefore connected to communism. To ignore this just makes any critique of MacCarthyism and jingoism weird!

Basically, pre-war America in Fallout 4 becomes this both sides thing where America is both pure and equal and white fences in every instance that we see as the player (the intro), while also supposedly being this dystopic MacCarthyist hellscape that's broadcasting gladly about their war crimes in Canada, and wants to root out communism. I guess the only fix for this issue without getting into the fine print like they had to do is just not to focus too much on the pre-war world.

[vaguely-concerned]

just had the thought 'in the end the most important thing varric taught rook was how to make a home for, with, and in other people' and then I had to go lie down on the floor and clutch at my head in unceasing agony for a few hours, as you may well imagine. hawke and the kirkwall crew........ in the end you kind of saved the world a bit in the most characteristically indirect and chaotic of ways. not by anything in particular that you did or achieved or accomplished (lmao imagine!), but just by -- having existed, and by the love that was always there, despite it all, in all its imperfections, even when no one was saved by it in the end. you're not here right now and you're not quite haunting the narrative but I hear your voices bickering and arguing and laughing from the other room. (and so, I think, does varric. all the time.)

'did you think you mattered, hawke? did you think anything you ever did mattered?' yeah actually, varric says with da2 and keeps saying through the series. you were here. and I loved you. and as it turns out that mattered more than almost anything in the world, no matter how long it lasted or how fucked up it was at the time or what else happens, because varric manages to pass that feeling, that intangible... home, that echo of you all as you were together, that love, hopefully the best parts of it, on to someone else for them to bring with them on their journey, with their family. and maybe the world will be kinder this time. you never know. merrill's line of 'Everything affects everything. We were born, a bunch of things happened, and now we're in a mess with our friends.' varric's greatest fear of becoming his parents. even through the wreck and the ruin of the world, ghosts upon ghosts upon ghosts of love -- malcolm hawke, who we never even see, but his life touched hawke's and hawke's touched varric's and varric's touched rook's and rook is passing it on to the family they're creating. the unbroken legacy of love shines through in ways that are stronger and stranger than any magic. help

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”